


Nothing Is True (Save For The Blood We've Shed)

by shadowsofvanity



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin's Creed (Video Game), Assassins vs. Templars, BDSM, Clarke/harem, Empire of Mankind, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Futanari, Girl Penis Clarke, Gp Clarke, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), Multi, Non-Sexual Slavery, Power Dynamics, Protective Clarke Griffin, Sexual Slavery, Yuri harem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2020-07-10 11:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsofvanity/pseuds/shadowsofvanity
Summary: An Ancient Brotherhood and an Ancient Cult brought the world to destruction and Humanity to the edge of extinction, but some few yet lived, encased in two miles of rotating metal above their ashen homeworld. A century later this last refuge is dying...and one girl is willing to do whatever it takes to save it. She will become what she must, and Death itself shall kneel at her Command.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nothing Is True (Save For The Blood We've Shed) ORIGINAL! DECEASED! NEW VERSION UP!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284854) by [shadowsofvanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsofvanity/pseuds/shadowsofvanity). 



**How strange it is, to be here again after so long, but I am quite excited. Nothing Is True was my first, legitimately epic-length story, but it was hollow sometimes. So much content got cut so I could update it faster. Entire plot-lines were eradicated for the sake of speed, and I never stopped regretting that. Well, now I’m going to fix it!**

**For those of you that are new here, this is a rewrite of my old flagship story, Nothing Is True (Save For The Blood We’ve Shed). An Assassin’s Creed and The 100 crossover, though The 100 is slightly AU…or it was at the time I started, at the End of Season Two. With how bizarre current 100 canon has apparently gotten (fucking body-snatchers? Colony planets? And I’m expected to still believe the early canon stuff showing the Ark was made from current space station technology? Absurd!) it is now _very_ AU, but quite frankly I think that makes it better than canon. Which felt like it was trying to add in as many sci-fi clichés as possible on the principle of ‘throw enough shit at the wall and some will stick’.**

**Anyway, you can expect my usual polygamy. You can expect Empire Building, Political Intrigue, Warfare, Smut, Fluff, and whatever else I have happen. Read and review, you know the score. Please also consider supporting me in other ways. QQ and FF.net have a link, so A03 people have to head there.**

**Right, lets get cracking then!**

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Nothing Is True (Save For The Blood We’ve Shed)

Chapter One

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The United Ark of Earth. A conglomeration of space stations and satellites. Just over a mile of rotating metals and glass, held together for nearly a century by the hopes and _creative engineering_ on the part of its inhabitants. Those lucky and chosen few, the vanguard of Mankind’s expansion into the dangerous unknown that was space…now the only remaining members of Humanity after nuclear fire scoured The Earth during its Final War. It was really rather remarkable that the combatants had refused to turn their weapons on those living in orbit. Perhaps they had known that Earth was doomed, and agreed that their race should live on, no matter how small the population. Perhaps sanity had prevailed, in those final days, rather than bitter and cruel nihilism. Even if that were true, it was a nothing short of a miracle that the thousands of detonations had not caused collateral damage to the orbital stations, and it was downright providential that no man-made or extra-orbital debris had destroyed The Ark since.

It could be a harsh and unforgiving place, this last bastion of Man, even cruel at times. The freedoms of the Old World were lost for the most part, leaving only Control and Order in their wake. No longer could people eat and drink as they saw fit, no longer could one refuse to have a job or refuse to carry it out, no longer were misdemeanors punished with a slap on the wrist. _All_ crime, no matter how minor or insignificant, was punishable by summary execution through airlock expulsion. Appallingly cruel, and while it was intended to impose order through sheer terror, it was only marginally successful. In any other place, under any other circumstance, rebellion would have been inevitable and swift. It was only the marginal decency of the Council which instituted the law, in restricting it only to legal adults, that had prevented such a result. Those under the age of eighteen were, instead, imprisoned until they reached their majority…at which point they were given a less-than-fair trial and generally suffered execution regardless. For those awaiting that fateful day, those ‘misguided youths’ that required a ‘firm hand and rehabilitation, there was The Skybox. A former storage module turned prison, one that oddly acted more _freely_ with the prisoners than the juvenile halls of Old. Instead of constant confinement to cells, they were allowed free reign of the module during the ‘day’, allowing them to socialize and form companionship-groups.

The Council, formed from the Heads of The Arks primary departments (Security, Maintenance, Medical, Agriculture, Water Reclamation, and Science) and the current Chancellor, held total control over the station and its’ inhabitants. They decided everything that happened, with only the thinnest and most laughable veneers of democratic process in both their ascensions to power and the actions they took as a group. Unsurprisingly, the body as a whole was not terribly popular with the populace at large, though there were naturally exceptions to be had. Exceptions that just so happened to be a married couple, the Heads of Medical and Maintenance: Abigail and Jake Griffin. They were well-known for their kindness and more ‘down-to-Earth’ natures, getting amongst the people and helping them without question or aloofness. Whether it was by spending extra hours fixing semi-functional ‘luxury items’ like televisions and showers, or by donating extra rations of their own to the needy, they were forever solidifying their places in the hearts and minds of the people.

Which is why the oft-feared revolt had very nearly occurred when the Chancellor, supposed best-friend of Jake, had floated him with neither notice or announced cause. It was traditional for the accused to have a chance to present evidence to their innocence of a crime, though admittedly given the size-to-population ratio of the station and the fact that making false accusations meant your own painful death, it was rarely anything other than a formality. The fact that not even that much had been given to the man, and the fact that his daughter had been placed in ‘quarantine’ and confined to quarters without explanation on the same day, convinced the citizenry that Thelonius Jaha was making a powerplay. Seeking to remove his biggest obstacle so that he could make a grab for true, absolute power.

Admittedly, they weren’t wrong that Jake Griffin had been a threat to Jaha’s power, it was just that the Africa-American man’s goals and purposes were not quite what they believed. He had tried to spin things, of course, proclaiming after the fact that the Head of _Maintenance_ , the man whose entire purpose was to keep The Ark and its people alive, had planned to place everything in imminent and fatal jeopardy! It was absurd, almost to the point of hilarity, and it was insulting as well. Did the man really think that they would fall for that? Still, they had settled down quickly enough, too used to the status quo and to fearful of endangering their own loved ones for doing anything that could be labeled as _seditious_.

Then Jaha had to pour lighter-fluid onto the smoldering goals of their discontent by having Clarke Griffin thrown into The Skybox without notice. Despite how impossible it was to keep a secret on The Ark, it seemed that no one knew _anyone_ that could name the crime she committed or could claim to have witnessed it. Remarkably suspicious, that, and the beliefs of dictatorial conspiracy were renewed once more. The young blonde was beautiful, charismatic, kind, and had an ironclad sense of what was right and what was wrong. Obviously, her morals, instilled in her by her deceased father, had made her a threat! It was only the heartfelt reassurance of one Abigail Griffin, supported by the newly promoted and widely liked Jacopo Sinclair, that Chancellor Jaha had followed the law to the letter and had no intention of taking supreme power that settled the citizens…but the anger and suspicion lingered still beneath the surface.

It was all of this and more that caused one Marcus Kane, Head of Security, to be rather less than comfortable with what he was about to do. As he walked into the Skybox, nodding in greeting to the guards at the separation door, he reflected on just how much his home in general and the Skybox in particular had changed in the months since Clarke had taken up residency within…since it had fallen under her sway.

Rather than embrace delinquency and laze about in a haze of bitterness like the rest of the kids seemed inclined to, she had made every effort to keep in good physical shape and practice various skills such as martial arts. It had not taken very long for others to begin emulating her, both with and without her cajoling, and as the group grew so did the breadth of subjects upon which she instructed them. Philosophy, logic and rhetoric, history and science….she educated them as best she could, using honeyed words and thinly veiled threats to procure the supplies she needed to do so from The Council., assuring them she was ensuring that ‘the inhabitants of The Skybox will be properly prepared for rejoining society as wise and productive adults.’

There were some, on both sides of the door, who objected of course. Those that wanted things to stay as they were, and those who greatly disliked and distrusted Clarke’s growing influence over so many members of the next generation. Fortunately for everyone’s peace of mind (and body), such people were a small if vocal minority. Most people tended to think that teaching teens how to be adults, thinkin things through, and understand the nature of consequence was something to be supported and praised whole-heartedly. He just hoped it didn’t blow up in everyone’s faces, because this whole damn situation was a powder-keg with a lit match next to the fuse.

“Marshall Kane.” The two delinquent ‘guards’ on the far side of the door, both girls a little younger than Clarke, greeted him with curtly polite nods as he crossed the threshold. “Clarke is waiting for you. Bree will show you the way.”

Kane nodded in acceptance to the slim dirty blonde, following at her heels as she turned and started to walk. While he hardly needed a guide to find what some people might call his protégé, and certainly didn’t need a guide to get around the prison whose layout and population he oversaw, it was a matter of diplomacy. Clarke ruled the Skybox, now, and in teaching her followers discipline she had them doing many things one might consider bizarre or presumptuous of prisoners. Then again, Clarke had always considered true imprisonment to be a matter of the mind. A surrender, an abandonment of pride and self-respect for nihilism and fleeting selfishness. Things she had worked very hard indeed to purge from the other teens, Bree being a prominent example of success. She had been ‘boxed’ for breaking into the Medical Wing and utilizing the precious supplies within for recreational use, a wild child that had cared for no one and nothing beyond having as much fun as she could by whatever means she wanted. Now she was one of the most rehabilitated prisoners, a model teen and inmate.

As he followed her along the tier where Clarke lived, he looked down into the communal area that dominated the detention block’s center. From this vantage point, it was easy to see a group of teen practicing what looked like meditation under the watchful eyes of one Zoe Munroe, one of those that could quite accurately be called a lieutenant of Clarke.

“Marshal Kane to see you, Clarke.” Bree announced as they approached Cell 1066, the most central and furthest-from-the-door cell in the entire complex, waving the man in question up to where the room’s inhabitants could see him.

“Ah, good. I’ve been expecting you, Marshall.” Clarke greeted him warmly, looking up from her discussion with another girl, one who was vaguely familiar to him. “Harper, why don’t you go. Sparring will be starting soon, and I want you there to help Zoe. Remind her to keep a close eye on the more volatile students and reprimand them as needed. The last thing we need are injuries because people get egotistical.”

“Of course, Clark.” The response was instant and respectful, and Kane exchanged nods with Harper as she passed him on her way to carry out her instructions.

“I see that the Cult of Clarke is still going strong.” He quipped once they were alone, and those bright blue rolled skyward with a sigh of long-suffering as her somewhat regal bearing faded, leaving only the girl he had watched grow up.

“Hardly a Cult, Marcus. They were lost and angry at the world, so I gave them a purpose. A purpose that has helped to shape them into people that can survive the Council’s idiotic capriciousness. Their gratitude and respect are heartwarming and flattering, but quite unnecessary.” she dismissed the idea easily, apparently unaware of how much like a charismatic cult leader she actually sounded. She was silent for a moment, long enough he wondered if he was supposed to respond somehow, before she met his eyes again. “So, I take it that you’re here to tell me you’ve all stopped dithering and decided to accept my proposal?”

“Clarke…” now it was Kane’s turn to sigh, giving her a vaguely chastising look that had absolutely no impact whatsoever on its target. Not that she didn’t have a point, because God knew that swift and decisive action wasn’t exactly a specialty of The Council when executing someone wasn’t involved. “Yes, they have, without any caveats or changes of their own. You will go planetside alone with basic supplies, Octavia gets to stay out of prison, and any executions will be stayed until the six-month mark passes. After that…after that, we won’t have a choice but to assume the ground isn’t survivable yet and…take steps.”

“Even if the ground isn’t perfect yet, its better than waiting around up here to die or watch people get murdered in cold blood because The Council lacks the courage to act boldly.” She responded, rising to her feet and gazing at the intricate artwork with which she had painstakingly detailed the walls of her cell. “If they won’t do what is necessary to save our people, _I_ will.”

“The Council cannot afford to act recklessly, Clarke. We’re all that is left. If we ‘act boldly’ and get it wrong, there won’t _be_ a human race to save.” Kane reminded her, and she spun to face him with burning eyes and a fierce scowl, one hand flicking in a contemptuous discarding motion.

“Waiting another year or more before sending a third of the next generation down on a single ship… _that_ is reckless. Had I not taken the initiative, the Council would have done nothing until it was already to late for anything other than a single, forlorn hope. A single cast of the die.” She lectured him heatedly, gesturing broadly to indicate the Ark as a whole. “We are meant for more than this, Marcus! Meant for more than simply wasting away in the sky, the sad remnants of a forgotten era! We will reclaim our home, and if that means I must be our vanguard, then by God I will be exactly that!”

Not for the first time, Marcus reflected on just why Clarke Griffin was an utter nightmare for The Council and Security. A speech like that, filled to the bring with earnest honesty and passion, could sway all but the most cold-hearted and fanatical. It was obvious to anyone with eyes to see and ears to listen that she _believed_ what she was saying with every ounce of her soul, and that sincerity added a degree of power to her words that could not be underestimated.

“I hope that you’re right, Clarke. I hope that you’re ready, that the mechanics did a good job, that you find shelter before a bad storm starts. I hope for a lot of things, Clarke. A lot of things.” He sighed, suddenly feeling quite tired. It was utterly unsuitable to his image of the iron-hearted dispenser of Law and Order, of course, but he was positive that none of the prisoners would dare eavesdrop on this of all rooms and conversations.

“You worry too much. I can kick the ass of any two people on this station simultaneously, I’ll have good equipment, and I’ll have all the surviving records on bunkers and supply caches. Not to mention a cause and my own pigheadedness.”

Though she sounded firm and confident, there was nonetheless a hint of vulnerability within her eyes. A fear of the unknown, yes, but more than that it was a fear of failure and the knowledge of what such a failure would mean for her people.

“Very true. No one has ever accused you of giving up easily, being easy to manipulate, or to control.” He agreed, which was technically true even if it was a massive understatement. Clarke did what Clarke thought was right, nothing more or less. “Given the circumstances, The Council wants you to leave as soon as possible. Two days from now.”

“Good, no point in wasting any more time. Inform the Council that I’ll be ready, and remind them that trying to keep my mission a secret is an exercise in futility. Word _will_ get out that I am no longer on the station, and it would probably be wiser to tell people the truth rather than let them believe that you’ve floated me two years early without a trial. Otherwise, you might find yourself with just a little bit of a problem.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that along, I promise.”

Both of them knew that her words would be ignored, of course, that The Council would avoid doing anything that might give the appearance of obedience or submission to her will. Petty, perhaps, but they couldn’t allow it regardless of how right she might be. They couldn’t afford to appear as if their hold on power was loose, not with things on the Ark so tense as they currently were. Quite honestly, Marcus was sure that the majority of The Council had only agreed to this venture of Clarke’s because it gave them the opportunity to separate her from her supporters. Besides, they were positive that they could keep the mission secret for the requisite six months, it wasn’t as if daily visits occurred for the prisoners!

“Go, Marcus. If I am leaving so soon, there are preparations to be made. After all, it wouldn’t do for all of my hard work here to be undone by my departure. Bree will escort you back to the hatch.” She said finally, glancing past him to where Bree had doubtlessly appeared at the use of her name. As he turned and started to walk away, her voice reached out to stop him. “I’m going to hold The Council to their promises, Marshall Kane. _All_ of The Council.”

Being dismissed and politely threatened by someone who was nominally his helpless prisoner was a fairly bizarre experience, but then Clarke had never really conformed to the expected norms of the Ark. She was too much like her father for that. Shaking his head in affectionate and bemused amusement, he bid farewell to the Prison Station and entered the Ark proper, checking his watch. He was due to meet his fellow Councilors in half an hour, which meant he had just enough time to take the walk to Alpha Station at a leisurely stroll. Which was good, given that he had to decide how best to inform them about the contents of his freshly finished conversation with Clarke.

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Thelonius Jaha, Chancellor of The Ark, gritted his teeth as Marcus finished speaking. Once again, the girl who was both a daughter to him and a massive thorne in his side was causing a volatile mixture of emotions within his heart. She was brave, kind, and constantly refused to accept that some things just _were_. That some things were how the world worked, how the world _needed_ to work, and that she really ought to stop rocking the goddamn boat. Clearly, the death of her father and her subsequent imprisonment had done little to bring her to heel.

…Well, that had sounded remarkably villainous and evil, even (or perhaps especially) within the safety of his own mind. He loved Clarke almost as much as he loved his own son, and he had long considered Jake and Abby to be the siblings he had never had, but he could never allow the Ark and its people to be placed in danger. Perhaps Jake had been right, perhaps the people banding together to find a solution would save everyone. After all, to save the Ark was to save themselves, and humans were remarkably smart and determined when it came to saving their own hides, and it wasn’t as if group effort had never led to breakthroughs of incredible proportions

The fact that they often placed themselves in the position where they _had_ to work together to save their own skins, and that many of the most successful group efforts in human history generally involved finding better ways to kill each other, was neither here nor there.

Jaha had instead considered it far more likely that the ordered society which was required to survive in space would have collapsed into anarchy and barbarism if the truth had been revealed. Attempts to claim the Exodus Ships for themselves, to crash the Ark into Earth, perhaps taking it upon themselves to lighten the load on the environmental systems. In such a chaos, born of fear and fury, the fates of The Council would likely be the stuff of nightmares, though _of course_ self-preservation was only a small factor in their decision-making process.

It was a burden of monolithic proportions, preserving what little of the human race remained. He couldn’t permit or ignore anything that might even peripherally endanger that mission, and unfortunately Jake Griffin had done so in more than one way. Above and beyond his naïve trust in the good nature of people. His heritage and the ideals that it held sacred were a plague upon mankind, one that had played a great part in the downfall of their race and the destruction of their homeworld.

The Sacred Brotherhood of Assassins. The Hashashin. The Hidden Ones. The Watchers In The Dark. Many names, many iterations, and countless fanatics willing to die for the sake of their precious ‘free will’. How had that ended for the Old World, hmm? Rampant laziness, narcissism, and a sense of self-righteous entitlement that had let society spiral into vicious decay that had been followed by even more vicious war.

It was the Order to which his family belonged that had preserved man. Like their ancient rivals, they had gone by many names. The Children of Cain. The Cult of Kosmos. The Order of the Ancients. The Knights Templar. An organization that believed utopia and peace would not be achieved through _tolerance_ and _mutual understanding_. Humanity was too prone to corruption and childish stupidity to chart their own course, and so those who were wiser would guide and control their course until they reached the pinnacle of evolution.

Oh, his Order had certainly gone too far in the past, even with the necessity of their righteous cause, he was willing to admit that much. Ethnic cleansing, for example, was hardly an acceptable tactic for creating a utopia of equality. Promoting genocide could hardly bring about peace and enlightenment, after all, and he was ashamed to admit that his forebearers had committed such crimes more than once. Still, it was better than the alternative.

“Well, if one thing is at all clear, it’s that Clarke isn’t having any second thoughts about her proposal.” Sinclair finally mused, voice tinged with vague amusement.

“My daughter takes oaths very seriously. When it was agreed Octavia would go free and we would let Clarke scout the ground, it became an inevitable truth as far as she is concerned.” Abby proclaimed with bitter pride, and Jaha couldn’t help but nod in begrudging agreement.

“I dislike the idea of giving her so many supplies. If this turns out to be a fool’s errand, valuable tools and resources will have been lost for nothing.” Pike, the hard-bitten teacher of Earth Skills and the Director of Agriculture, grunted with a frown of displeasure. Like his friend Marcus, he placed the security and survival of the Ark above everything else, though he went so far as to include manners and diplomacy in ‘everything else’.

“The equipment we’re giving Clarke is quite insubstantial, all things considered, and without it informing us about conditions on the ground will be totally impossible.” Marcus pointed out, receiving a dissatisfied grunt in response, which was probably the best that he could hope for.

“The decision has already been made, there isn’t any point to rehash it all again here. Is there anything else to discuss?” Jaha looked around the table, each person shaking their head in turn. Nodding, he adjourned the meeting and departed with unusual alacrity, leaving his subordinates to their own devices as he began the short walk to his lonely quarters. With his wife dead more than five years past, and his son refusing to acknowledge his existence or do anything other than sleep there, he had little in the way of pleasant company. Nor did he really want to find any, at least not of a romantic sort. He would remain forever loyal to his beloved, which was probably one of the few things his son actually liked about him these days…

 _Loyalty_. A word and concept that nearly everyone on The Ark would say he was utterly incapable of, and he honestly couldn’t disagree. The weight of Jake’s gaze before the airlock opened was crushing, but it had been a gaze of solemn understanding and _forgiveness_ instead of condemnation. That had made it all the more agonizing, in the end. Had made the nightmares worse, had made his conscience torture him all the more for murdering a man who would have listened to him if he had begged patience.

Seventy-two more hours until Clarke would be on the ground, and though her feared her family’s ideals could return once the rest of the Ark followed her to the ground (surely, after a century, their homeworld would at least be capable of keeping them alive long enough to reach bunkers they could inhabit!), but he had faith that wisdom would prevail. Some loosening of the current laws would be expected, of course, and he would do so with little objection. Cruel totalianarism had nevcer in history brought long-term order, but instead ended always in worse chaos and destruction than that which had cause the totalitarianism to come to power in the first place. Besides, the goodwill he would garner by doing such a thing would buy him plenty of latitude, latitude enough to accomplish his goals at last.

As he lay down to sleep that night, he reflected once again that it was a damn good thing the Griffon’s were so staunchly moral. Otherwise, he might never have awoken some dark night, but found himself bathing in Hellfire instead.

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Amusingly enough, another man slept soundly despite having received the same sort of visit that Jaha so rightly feared from young Clarke. Nearly three weeks after he had put her on house arrest for coming _very_ close indeed to achieving what her father had attempted, as a matter of fact. Thorough meticulous and methodical memorization of patrol schedules and command center shifts, she had managed to provide herself with a window of opportunity nearly _four minutes wide_! If he hadn’t remembered he needed to adjust the feed for one of the few still-functioning security cameras and chanced upon her, she would have succeeded in broadcasting her father’s message to the entire station.

He had jumped at shadows and the smallest of noises for those three weeks, convinced that (despite his perpetrations, which included round-the-clock guards outside his door) he would wake up one night with a Columbian Necktie, courtesy of a very smart, cunning, and _angry_ blonde teenager. He had been partially correct, in that he had in fact awakened one night to a distinctly unnerving sight…

_His eyes flew open, mind racing with adrenaline as he tried to evaluate how his environment had changed, something he was positive had happened. After a moment of searching, his eyes fell upon a shadowed female figure sitting at his small work table, casually toying with the long, dark form of a combat knife._

_“Good morning, Marshal Kane, and I mean that in the most literal sense of course. Its only half past two at the moment.” A terrifyingly familiar voice greeted him softly, and he shot upright in bed to stare wide-eyed at Clarke Griffin. “Terribly sorry to disrupt your sleep, but I just couldn’t stay away any longer.”_

_“How the_ hell _did you get in here?!” he snarled, weighing whether shouting for help would push her to violence. “What happened to my guards? I would have heard you fighting your way past them.”_

_“Oh, they weren’t to hard to handle, I’m afraid. A few sparks, a bit of a zapping sound, and a bang was all it took for them to abandon their post. By the time they figure out that it was a small electrical fire that did no damage beyond cosmetics and come back, they’ll have been gone for a good fifteen minutes. More than enough time for us to finish here and for me to be gone.” She waved the blade around airily, her tone verging on dismissive, and he swallowed a rather large lump in his throat as he eyes followed its movement._

_“You planning on killing me, Clarke? Getting some revenge for your father?” he was quite proud that his voice didn’t waver in the least. If she meant to kill him, he wasn’t going to die blubbering like a coward!_

_“No, of course not. What do you take me for, and what would my father think of me, if I murdered you for carrying out your duty? You’re not some dictatorial maniac killing people on a whim, Marshall. You’re trying to keep Humanity alive, and I think you would change your methods in an instant if you had other options.” Her voice was sharp, a stern rebuke, and he felt himself nearly sag against his pillows in relief, though he tensed again when she continued. “No, I’m here to make some ultimatums, ultimatums that involve me going to Earth as a scout as early as possible, rather than in two years with the Skybox kids._

_He gave her an incredulous look at that statement. The idea of stealthily repairing a dropship over that period of time and using the ‘expendable’ Skybox kids as scouts to discover if Earth was safe had only just been approved, and the initial repairs begun. Hell, they hadn’t even decided which Exodus ship to use yet! Surely her mother hadn’t told her?!_

_“Please, don’t give me that sort of a look. It was perfectly obvious what you were going to do. If my Dad couldn’t fix the failing systems, they_ can’t _be fixed. The only place we can go with what we have is Earth, and you lot would never even_ dream _of sending anyone ‘useful’ down. Ergo, The Delinquents. Whispers of a search for a repairable Exodus ship, to be brought online slowly over the course of the next two years, filled in the rest quite nicely.” She had scoffed at him, sounding terribly amused as she answered the questions he hadn’t actually voiced. Evidently the chosen members of Maintenance and Science hadn’t been as discrete as The Council would have hoped, though at least it required someone of notable cleverness to put all the pieces together._

_“What about your mother and the rest of The Council? They want you under control.” He pointed out, and she smirked confidently at him as she rose to her feet fluidly._

_“The Council wants me out of sight so that I can’t cause them any grief…or at least less of it, at any rate. You leave my mom to me and help get the rest of them onboard.” She told him, padding silently towards his door._

_“Why are you doing this, Clarke? It is as good as a death sentence. We know barely anything about conditions on the ground…”_

_She stopped in the doorway, and he feared for a moment that he had roused her ire, but she merely gave him a sad smile over her shoulder and left, a final pair of sentences handing behind her as the door shut and his guards returned, oblivious._

_“Its what my father would have done. After all, death is a small price to pay to save my people.”_

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**So, yeah. Started the rewrite officially! This won’t be a huge priority, because Seraphim is the only story of mine that people (person, really) is financially supporting, but I am sure you all know how to change that if you are so inclined. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed Mk. II of Chapter One, and I promise it will only get bigger from here!**


	2. Chapter Two

**One of the many things that bugged me about canon was some of the gaping holes in the world building. They talk about this one generation that was forced to resort to cannibalism to survive, and how it was the ‘Vanished Generation’ or whatever. But that, and many other things, make no sense at all when one notes that its been less than a century. That’s two, _maybe_ three generations at most! **

**This story also now has a[T](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/NothingIsTrue)** [ **V Tropes page** ](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/NothingIsTrue) **, though it has essentially nothing on it yet except links to the various websites and the summary. Feel free to add stuff to it or those of any of my other stories (Herald, Because of the War, and Seraphim).**

**Now, on with the show!**

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Nothing Is True (Save For The Blood We’ve Shed)

Chapter Two

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It was a small group that came to wish Clarke farewell when the time came. Only her mother, Sinclair, Kane, and Jaha were present. Those most directly involved in authorizing and preparing her for her mission, who also (conveniently enough) happened to be those with the most to lose if loose lips struck and the situation deteriorated badly.

The escape pod that would be her transportation to Earth sat ready behind her, every single inch checked and rechecked a dozen times by Sinclair and his best subordinates. The ground might kill her the instant she opened the hatch, radiation poisoning or an unbreathable atmosphere ending her life in a horrific fashion, but she would survive reentry and planetfall, by God! If nothing else, the restoration and launching processes involved in today’s attempt would prove to be nothing short of invaluable when it came time to send the delinquents down in a couple of years.

As for the girl herself, she was wearing none of her survival equipment, which was instead carefully pack in durable, fixed compartments within her transport. Instead, she was clad in one of the few surviving space-suits in The Ark’s possession, an air-tight helmet held between the crook of one elbow and a hip. It was an heirloom, this particular suit. A legacy of the Griffon Family, bearing the name and personal emblem of one Alexia Griffin, Clarke’s grandmother and the first woman to spend an entire year in a rotary habitat. Far more formfitting than the suits of the 20th and 21st centuries, is was nonetheless still rather cumbersome and ungainly, which may have had something to do with the way she was shifting her weight and feet every few seconds.

Or perhaps it had something to do with the indescribably awkward silence that was currently reigning supreme.

“Well, I guess I’ll talk to you all soon enough. Just try not to drop me on the wrong spot, huh? God knows that this is going to be difficult enough without me ending up in the middle of nowhere.” She finally said after the silence stretched on to the point of pain, giving them a crooked half-smile. “I’ll contact the Ark as soon as I can rig something with a signal strong enough to reach orbit.”

She stepped away and settled her wait on her backfoot, using it as a fulcrum to pivot towards the pod, but halted when her mother darted forwards and pulled her into a crushing hug. Blue eyes widened and motion frozen, before they softened and padded arms moved to encircle the older woman. The embrace lasted for a long minute, before Clarke pulled away. Eyes glistening with unshed tears, she withdrew into her dilapidated transport and began strapping herself in. A few last-minute checks from Sinclair and the hatch was closed, the boom of metal striking metal sounding like a death-knell. An instant late she was gone, launched towards what had once been Washington D.C. at nearly eighteen-thousand miles-per-hour. The Ark actually shuddered and shifted in its orbit, despite its size and the efforts of its station-keeping thrusters. A prerecorded message was broadcasted moments later, informing the citizenry that an old satellite had been stripped of useful parts and jettisoned to Earth in order to prevent it from becoming an obstacle in their orbital path.

Those that knew the truth, of course, were less than pleased. Anxious at the possible doom of their friend and (to some) idol, those that were able looked through windows or viewports in the hopes of glimpsing her descent. Only two succeeded, a pair of friends that owed a great deal (their friendship included) to that falling star: Raven Reyes and Octavia Blake.

Raven was an olive-skinned young woman, long dark-brown hair in a half-braid and half-pony style that kept it out of the way from her warm brown eyes. Widely, and accurately, considered to be Sinclair’s protégé, her mechanical skills were second to none. A trait that had, along with her personal loyalty to Clarke, led to her being placed on the refurbishment team for Clarke’s pod. Loyalty borne of Clarke saving her from making a very big mistake when it came to her then-boyfriend, Finn Collins. He had been a good guy once, but then puberty had kicked in and his decency had gone right out the window. Oh, puberty hit everyone, and God knew that it could make absolute monsters out of girls as well, but his good looks had garnered him a lot of attention from the girls of their age group. He had remained loyal to Raven for a time, but the attention quickly got to him. Before long, he was flirting and spending time with other teens, teens that cared more about being seen with him than respecting the fact that he had a girlfriend. She herself had been oblivious to his intensifying acts of infidelity until Clarke, who had been approached by him and rebuffed his advances, warned her of his behavior. Though he had tried to deny it, tried to reassure her of his loyalty and dedication to her, she had known he was lying. How could she not, when they had grown up side by side their entire lives?

Her companion’s appearance was similar to her own, in most respects, though Octavia’s hair was a shade or two lighter and unbound, sharp green eyes locked on the rapidly vanishing object. Her place on The Ark was a notorious one, her name known to all, but it was not through and actions or choices she had made of her own will. Rather than being recognized for her personality and beauty like Clarke (though she was by no imagination unattractive) or her mechanical skills like Raven, she was known for being the one and only ‘second child’ in nearly a century. Her birth itself had been a crime, her life an anathema, one that had led to over a decade within the confines of a single room…if she was lucky. When there was a chance of discovery, she was consigned to a literal hole in the floor. A concealed hollow, barely large enough for her to fit in without suffering from stunted growth or suffocation. Her loyalty to Clarke, arguably the most zealous of anyone who followed Clarke, was born of the blonde quite literally preserving her life and liberty.

The first time she had left her family’s room, it had been for the Unity Day masquerade. With a mass of kids and teens, all wearing masks and costumes, and her brother keeping an eye out as a member of Ark Security, it was as safe as safe could be. Even the various boys that had taken notice of her hand’t realized that they didn’t know her, though the discomfort from being flirted with (and being in such a large crowd) had been immense. She had no idea how to handle so much noise or talking to anyone who wasn’t family, having to watch everything she said so that she didn’t give herself away.

That was when Clarke had come to the rescue, her presence a bulwark that shielded her and her easy company a rock that steadied her. The Princess of The Ark had guided her away from the densest part of the crowd and they had chatted, mostly about people trying to get a bit handsy thanks to the anonymity the masks and costumes provided them. Others had joined and left their corner, friends and admirers of Clarke that she found herself getting along fairly well with, but in the end there was only one person that she found herself truly at ease with. Dangerously so, at times, and her tongue had hurt for a day from all the times she bit it to silence a still-born reference to her nature as a second-born sibling.

Naturally, disaster had struck without warning in the form of a freak solar flare. Power failure had been widespread and ArkSec had (for no discernable reason) begun inspecting ID cards because of it. She had been caught, of course, unable to get out with the doors guarded, and it wasn;t long after that that her brother was forced into a janitorial position and her mother was floated. Dragged before the Council, she had been forced to listen as they plotted her imprisonment and death for the crime of being born, which had hardly been her choice or fault, before Clarke arrived to express her opinion on the matter.

Sweeping through the doors like a queen, Clarke had flayed the Council alive with a verbal flogging that was as impressive to watch as it was intimidating. She had called into question their humanity, their competence as leaders, and their intellect as she shamed them viciously for their treatment of a child, one whose only ‘crime’ had been being born. Octavia had very nearly laughed when Jaha had demanded that the Head of Medical Division ‘exercise some control over her insolent child’. Abigail Griffin had quite literally laughed in the Chancellor’s face, reminding him with something approaching pity that no one controlled Clarke except Clarke. Besides which, she happened to agree with her daughter that executing someone for something that wasn’t their fault was tyranny, not justice, and she would vote against any such measure.

In that moment, as the Council caved and cowered before the implacable will of a single teenaged girl, Clarke had become Octavia’s idol and hero. Oh, her beloved older brother was still the most important person in her life, but it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Clarke was only a paperwidth behind him. Her personal savior, her knight in shining armor.

“So, there she goes.” Raven finally sighed as the pod vanished fully from their sight, turning away from the window with an almost lost look to her eyes. “Now what do we do?”

“Now we do what we have to do to help her. I have no interest in sitting around on my ass up here waiting for Clarke to solve all of mankind’s problems by herself, and that means I’m going to get ready and find a way to go down after her.” Octavia shrugged dismissivly, obviously not considering the situation to require any sort of consideration, and Raven shook her head with a somewhat exasperated smile.

“Always rushing ahead.” She murmured, slinging her arm around the shorter girl. “You won’t get far if that’s the best plan you can come up with. Helping Clarke was never in doubt, but it requires planning, and fortunately for you I’m good at that. There is a small two-person pod that I’ve had my eye on. We get that thing working and head planet-side, maybe even with the Council’s blessing, and help Clarke save the day. It will take a couple of weeks at least to get everything I need and start doing the repair work, though.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing, I suppose.” Octavia grumbled a little good-naturedly, fully aware that planning wasn’t entirely her most impressive skill. She was good at thinking on her feet, but the big-picture, long-term planning stuff? Not exactly her wheelhouse. “Besides, going to Earth before everyone else, just the three of us, sounds like a lot of fun. It has to be better down there than it is up here, right?”

Raven nodded in agreement. After all, how bad could Earth be compared to the Ark?

##############################################################################

“Velocity now 8kps. Entry angle is good, course steady.” Clarke kept her eyes on her instruments as she spoke, the black-box recording every word and every reading for later transmission to The Ark. While reentry had long been perfect before the Final War, the atmosphere had been changed by the many nuclear blasts enough that guesswork and prayer had played a significant part of the Ark’s calculations. As such, the information gathered from her own descent would be invaluable for ensuring the safety of the Skybox kids who would follow her in time. There was a shudder, and a glance at the altimeter told her why. “Passing through the Karman Line into the Mesosphere. External temperature skyrocking.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. While it hadn’t yet reached the predicted 3000 degrees Fahrenheit, it was far from chilly, either. The pod began to shudder as the air thickened, and she resisted the urge to grit her teeth in response. The chance of badly damaging them if she did was far from remote, and she rather liked having them un-chipped and in one piece. Still, despite her discomfort, everything was going more-or-less as planned.

Naturally, things immediately went of course. Literally.

Upon entering the Stratosphere, chaos struck. Alarms blared, dials and readouts spun so wildly they almost blurred, and she was barely able to keep up with even the barebones of unfolding events.

“Velocity dropping as planned, but I’m off course by nearly seven degrees. I won’t be landing near Mount Weather or either secondary zone. I can’t predict where I will make landfall.” She bit out each sentence as precisely as she could the rattling making it hard to think, never mind speak. “Parachutes deploying in five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One.”

Small explosive charges, thawed out and primed by the heat of reentry, detonated with perfectly synchronized symmetry, the hatches they governed sent flying. A moment later, three clouds of compact clothe billowed out, long strands of thread going taught as the mushroom shapes of the parachutes caught the air and blossomed. Her velocity plummeted from six-hundred mph to barely forty. 300 yards to impact.

She wondered, in those final three hundred yards, what her arrival would look like to any living creature on the ground. Creatures that probably had no idea what a human was, creatures that would have no fear or inbred aversion to her. That would either be very good…or she would get mauled to death by some sort of freakish, mutated, radioactive bear monster.

Then she hit the ground. The impact slammed her against her harness, a grunt of discomfort escaping her despite the heavy padding around her and the fairly low speed of the impact. Her forehead actually struck the inside of her helmet, which did little to improve her mood. Still, she had a job to do, and she had actually survived long enough to make doing it _possible_.

“Landing successful, if a bit rough. Atmosphere has higher oxygen content than expected, likely due to unchecked growth amongst oxygen-generating plant-life.” She noted, somewhat surprised, before unlatching her harness rather clumsily.

She hit the door release, the hatch hissing slightly as it unlocked and swung open. Standing on legs tense with the emotion of the moment, she slowly stepped out of the pod onto real, solid earth, the first person to do so in a century. It was a legendary, picturesque moment akin (and ironically reversed) to the first moon landing, or rather it _would_ have been, if she hadn’t immediately faceplanted.

Used to walking on nothing but metal, in lower gravity, her entire life, the loose dirt and stone thrown by her landing proved to be as dangerous to her balance as ice would have been. Despite there being no one around to witness her pratfall and the resultant storm of vitriolic swearing, Clarke’s face burned brightly from the utter humiliation of the moment. Pushing herself back to her feet with a stern scowl, she regarded her now-dirty suit and shook her head. Hardly the most auspicious start, but maybe a poor start meant better things in her near future.

She checked her oxygen meter and grimaced unhappily at what she saw. Only twenty minutes remained of her supply, which was nowhere near enough to let her stumble about in an effort to find a sealed shelter. Which meant that her only option besides asphyxiation was to pray that the atmosphere was survivable and remove her suit, though admittedly she would probably have had to do that already. It was _hot_ inside the damn thing, thanks to the layers and layers of dense cloth intended to shield her from the cold of space. There was nothing for it, no point in putting it off or trying to ignore the inevitability of it, and with a deep breath she raised slightly-shaking hands to her helmet. With a twist, the mag-locks came loose, and she took another deep breath-one that she feared could be her last-and pulled the helmet off completely, hair slightly frizzed from being within the sweaty confines of the helmet. When her face didn’t immediately melt off, she let out her held breath in a gusty sigh before inhaling again.

Almost immediately, she was on her hands and knees, head bowed and body trembling. Yet it was not poisonous air that laid her low, no insidious airborne threat or radiological pathogen, but rather the ‘simple’ smells of her homeworld. The ark was, and always had been, a fairly sterile environement, with even Farm Station being limited in the degree of ‘earthly’ smells that mankind’s tattered remnants could experience. Here, on the ground, everything was so much richer and varied than she could ever have imagined. She could smell so much, things that she didn’t even know the words to describe, because how could she? For one hundred years, _no one_ had smelled these things. There was no one to tell her what they _were_ , what they were _coming from_ , what they _meant_ , and it was _crushing_ her beneath its weight. Attempts at calming herself with deep breaths only exacerbated the issue, drowning her, and as her panic grew darkness began to encroach on her vision.

She snarled in defiance and forced the oncoming faint away. Failure was unacceprable, something that was not even worth contemplating. If her mission failed, if _she_ failed, a lot of people would be on death row, including people she personally cared for. Pushing herself back to her feet, she began the somewhat laborious process of removing her EVA suit to reveal the skintight bodysuit beneath it. Made entirely of black spandex, it wiked sweat away from her skin and helped to regulate her body temperature. It also, if she were so humble as to admit, did very flattering things for her athletic build and full bust. Indeed, there was something darkly thrilling and empowering about wearing so flattering an outfit. Running her fingers through her long hair, she tilted her head back and luxuriated in the light breeze and the warm caress of the sun on her skin. Things that she had only ever read about before, things she had understood only in the most clinical of terms. Once she found shelter, she decided, she was going to spoil herself a bit and explore, maybe just strip and lie in the sun. It wasn’t as if anyone was around to see her, and the thought of doing something so _naughty_ sent a flutter through her lower belly. She would have to do some star-gazing as well, once the sun set, though she hoped it wouldn’t get too cold for her to enjoy it.

Turning back to the pod, she started the next step. The spacesuit was dumped on the seat and her equipment was pulled from various bins. Bullet-and-blade resistant armor was first, quite sensibly. Whatever beasties might still be alive would have a hard time getting through it, she hoped, and it would protect her from puncture wounds during any falls that might occur as she trekked through the world. An eighteen-inch _kukri_ was sheathed at the small of her back, carefully forged of a lightweight titanium alloy and sharp enough to cut bone. Perfect for bushwacking, wood-crafting, animal-skinning, and self-defense.

Next was her utility belt, a multi-compartmented affair holding a tinderbox, map, GPS, and other such small but profoundly important equipment. It would, quite literally, be her lifeline, especially with how off-course she had to be. Finally came a truly precious item, both personally and in case she ran into a particularly nasty beastie.

Her great-grandmother’s Smith and Wesson 500. A ‘pistol’ that truly deserved the moniker of ‘hand cannon’, and something of a family heirloom. As the one who had originally conceived PROJECT: ARK and helped to ensure its creation, and who had refused to abandon her soldiers to join it, she had been the most decorated Allied officer during conflicts leading up to the outbreak of the Final War. General of the Armies of the United States (a rank that had previously been given only to the legendary ‘Black Jack’ Pershing and George Washington himself) Skylar Andromeda Griffin was well known to all Arkers. Her family had been scrupulous to avoid glorifying themselves with her deeds and the rest of the population had, thankfully, respected that enough to keep any hero-worship at the proverbial door.

Mostly.

Settling her holster comfortably on her right thigh, she gave the pod one last look before turning her back and walking away. Nightfall would come quickly, faster than she would expect, and she needed some sort of shelter from the elements and potential predators before then. As much glee as she was feeling about being in the wild nature of her homeworld, she didn’t much feel like tying herself to a high tree branch in order to safely sleep.

Clambering out of the crater created by her arrival on terra firma, she looked about for any easily-discernable landmarks or clues to her location, before shaking her head and sighing a little morosely. _Of course_ it wouldn’t be that easy, she grumbled mentally to herself as she pulled out her map and GPS. That mental grumbling became very loud and very vitriolic swearing when it found her coordinates: 38.7965 degrees North, 76.8836 degrees West. Right on the outskirts of Andrews Air Force Base. That was both good and bad, she reflected as she tucked her GPS away and studied her map carefully. On the one hand, she was nearly eighty miles from her objective in Mount Weather, no small distance despite the time she had to work with. On the other, there was potentially a treasure trove of weapons, tools, or materials here at the base that she might be able to find and make use of.

Returning her map to its own pouch, she looked around again. While she had clearly not landed in the core of the base, it shouldn’t be too hard for her to find one of the runways and follow it from there. Even with a hundred-year span of time, there would still be enough uncovered tarmac for it to work, she was willing to bet. She had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing and experiencing more of the Old World.

She was rather surprised by just how much greenery there was around, quite frankly. As a military base, Andrews would have been a priority target. As a base within the nation’s capital itself, and the one responsible for evacuating the President on Air Force One? There had probably been an ICBM dedicated to its exclusive destruction, yet the grass was tall and lush, the trees and bushes towering and strong with little in the way of mutation. They had been taught on the Ark that the Final War had been fought by incredibly ‘clean’ weapons by nuclear standards, and she imagined this was the result, but it was still astonishing to see.

She could hear animals too, the sounds of small feet scampering through the underbrush and birds singing in the breeze-brushed foliage. It was astonishing, unfathomable to her. She had never seen or heard a non-human creature in anything other than recorded media. That would certainly take some getting used to, especially at night.

She stumbled slightly as the ground transitioned from nature to macadam, and she couldn’t help kneeling down to feel it. She had felt dirt and plantlife before, in hydroponics, but there had been nothing like the rough, stone-like surface of pavement on the Ark. There had been no need for it, obviously, and with space being such a premium, that which wasn’t needed was disposed of.

Looking from left to right along the length of the surface, she contemplated it for a long moment before shrugging and heading right. If there was anything to find here, she would come across it eventually, no matter which direction she started from. Besides, she was pretty sure the old maps had most of the buildings in the north-west section of the base, and that was this way.

As she walked, she took the opportunity to practice her Earth Skills. Identifying plant-life, taking note of landmarks, trying to spot and identify wildlife…all of it fascinating, all of it helping to keep her mind busy. She was sure that, if she allowed herself to wander mentally, the gravity of the situation could prove detrimental to her mental health. She could feel the weight of her circumstances lingering at the edge of her mind, an invisible Sword of Damocles waiting to fall on her head.

Her heart nearly stopped, breath catching in her chest, as a streamlined shape crossed her vision. It was a doe, a female deer, walking slowly and carefully across the tarmac a dozen yards away with a pair of fawns trailing behind it. Human and beasts both froze, forward motion halted as their eyes locked onto each-other, and for a moment the entire world seemed to be frozen in time. Clarke unconsciously shifted her weight and the moment was broken as the animals bolted, bounding away with astounding alacrity.

For the first time in her life, she had seen an _actual animal_ , in the flesh, and it was probably the most beautiful thing that she had ever born witness to. The fluidity with which they moved, the way they blended in with the environment, it was incredible.

Mood brightened considerably, a notable feat given the fact that she had already been thrilled and filled with wonder at everything she was seeing and hearing, she moved on down the airstrip. Much to her regret, she spotted little else after that, though there were a handful of times she could have sworn that she saw something amongst the trees or the underbrush. Fortunately, it only took another fifteen minutes or so for the trees to open up into the base proper. There wasn’t much left of the buildings that had once stood there, as anyone might expect, but she did have to admit there was more still standing than she expected.

Glancing from one ruined building to the next, she frowned in contemplation. Without knowing which was which, she hadn’t the slightest idea which would be the best to search first. The less time she had to spend scavenging the better, but she didn’t want to miss anything of use either. Perhaps it would be wisest to go from the most-damaged to the least? Get the more hazardous, and likely least rewarding, ruins out of the way before she got tired and began to lose the light of the sun? That seemed to be the safest option by far, and taking unnecessary risks wasn’t on the agenda.

Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the most-destroyed building, which had probably been a hanger of some sort. At least, that was her assumption based on the remaining steel girders and their vaguely domed shape. Amusingly, though much of the walls and ceiling were gone, the side door and a section of wall around it still stood. The inside was little more than a heap of rubbish, of course, twisted wreckage and rusted hulks covering the majority of the floor.

There wasn’t much of use on the main floor, unsurprisingly, exposed to the elements as it was, but she had much better luck when she rooted through lockers and storage containers. Some decent wiring, a potentially-salvagable pistol and some rounds, and a true gem: an MDCD.

The Miniature Digital Compact Disk had been the last iteration of a technological line that had started with, arguably, in the late 1800s. The size of a quarter and capable of holding half a terabyte of data, it became the core of modern information technology. If she could get her hands on the requisite equipment, she would be able to both listen to any records she found on similar disks, and create her own.

The next two ruins were much the same, scattered nuggets of useful tech or tools buried amongst piles of useless trash, and by the time she reached the most intact building she had no less than three pistols, almost thirty rounds (a torn bit of cloth fashioned into a crude pouch by twisting the top and shoving it under her belt held them), and nearly a half-dozen MDCDs. All good discoveries, though she didn’t know if the disks and the pistols were actually functional, but she hadn’t found anything more immediately useful like, just as a _random_ example, a map of survival bunkers on this side of Washington.

The final building was her final hope for finding something like that. A low, squat, windowless bunker, the weathered construct looked like it could (and probably _had_ ) take a direct hit from a nuke and stay in one piece. The door was sealed tightly, and she scowled slightly at being stymied, no matter how briefly. Fortunatly, the dual role of her ancestor as the found of Project Ark and Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces meant she could access any military structure via a ‘skeleton key’ command prompt. Opening the hatch to the keypad, she typed that command prompt in.

‘Extremis Malis, Extremis Remedis’. Desperate Times call for Desperate Measures.

With a muted beep and a pneumatic hiss, the blast door creaked open, lights flickering to life within, and she stepped inside. It was obvious the bombardment had been as severe as she presumed, judging by the detritus covering the floor. Papers and pens, a few wall-mounted devices that had shaken free, books and clipboards were scattered everywhere, but the terminals remained, fans whirring softly as they came online. Though tempted to plumb their digital depths immediately, it would be better to hunt for supplies throughout the bunker before returning here. As a closed military network, they wouldn’t be able to contact The Ark anyway, so she could afford to wait.

There were no bodies, for which she was immensely grateful, but it was obvious people had been here during and after the war. Little food remained and the armory was stripped bare, but miscellaneous supplies like batters and rope were still found as she rooted around. The real treasure, however, was the brand-new, sealed-in-the-box, military-grade Micro Electronic Radial Computer System. She couldn’t believe her luck, to find one of the wrist-mounted computer systems that had the processing power of 21st Century _supercomputers*_. It would be able to play back all of her MDCDs, it would help her keep a detailed record of her travels and the environment, it would be able to scan and evaluate flora and fauna, and it would certainly help her repair and make use of any long-range comms equipment she might find to contact the Ark with.

Hurriedly opening it and looking through the instructions, she mounted the sleek, bracer-like device on her left arm, marveling at its design. A tentative twist-flick of her wrist, a simple but specific motion, began the boot process.

**“Welcome to Advent Technolgy’s Micro Electronic Radial Computer System, or M.E.R.C.S. Please note that your system is a designated military unit, and as such in considered CONFIDENTIAL and PROTECTED. At no point are you to permit unauthorized access to this unit and its contents, under threat of punishment ranging from court-marshal and indefinite incarceration to execution.”** A female voice said, sounding entirely too calm and passive for the threats she was handing out. **“Now connecting to PanTerra Military InfoNet. ALERT: PanTerra Military InfoNet functionality reduced to seventy-five percent.”**

**“ALERT: Code Sunfall has been declared. All military forces are ordered to enact Directive 51 in accordance with the Kingmaker Contingency. Querying database.”**

Clarke had no idea what any of that meant, but she could take a reasonable guess. The device had found a signal telling it full nuclear war had broken out and was trying to figure out who was currently in charge. That…could take a while, if it had to sort through a particularly long list and verify deaths.

**“ALERT: Mount Weather Survival Installation is STATUS: COMPROMISED by ENEMY FACTION: TRAITORS. All Kingmaker Contingency assets are STATUS: DECEASED. Enacting Legacy Protocol. This may sting.”**

Clarke was in the midst of frowning, trying to decipher the latest monotonous spiel, when a slight and sharp stabbing sensation to the bottom of her wrist had her yelping in pain. It was quickly soothed by some sort of gel, but in that moment it had felt unpleasantly similar to the stab of a needle. But why would the M.E.R.C.S do that…?

**“Legacy Protocol Established. Direct Descendant of Supreme Commander Skylar Griffin confirmed. Engaging…ERROR! Uknown signal…o-overwrite…system fail-.”** The rest was nothing but static, and Clarke swore savagely as her eyes grew hot. She hadn’t planned on finding such a boon, had believed she would have to complete her mission with only the tools that she had brought down with her, but the emotional roller-coaster of finding the mini-comp and then having it crash out was painful. She started to remove it, struggling to think of what she could possibly do to salvage it, only to stop in shock as a small form sprang into view in the air above the palm of her hand, emitted by a small projector set into the metal surface there.

**_“Hello, Clarke. My name is ALIE, and I’m here to help.”_**

############################################################################

**So, yeah, I fiddled with things a bit from the original story, obviously. Clarke was originally not meant to meet Lexa as quickly as she did, that’s why the original chapter makes mention of a bunker. She and Lincoln were going to take cover after killing the Pauna, and when Lincoln woke up the next morning Clarke would be gone. Anyway, I’ve added some more sci-fi elements to suit some of the advanced tech we see in later 100 canon, as well as the simple fact that technology is improving so quickly we’ll probably see tech like this in my own lifetime. So, yeah, Clarke now has an amalgamation Pip-Boy and Omni-Tool to make use of, though it will by no means solve all of her problems. Indeed, it will probably create some.**

***I feel justified in assuming that this is possible, given that modern cell phones have _at least_ one million times the memory and one hundred thousand times the processing power of the computer that put man on the moon.**


End file.
